


A kitchen is just a small stable, really

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drunken Shenanigans, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-15 15:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: A surprise thing for the peaky blinders fic exchange for the prompt:"Why the fuck is there a horse in the kitchen??"No ambiguity, just good ol' romanceAlfie wants to sleep, Tommy is drunk. There's a horse.





	A kitchen is just a small stable, really

**Author's Note:**

  * For [comebackjessica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/gifts).



Alfie has always been a heavy sleeper. Even after the war when the dark hours of the night became difficult, if he did manage to fall asleep, he’d stay asleep. It’s quite possible that a bomb could drop right outside the window and he would be non the wiser; just wake up to find his bedroom wall caved in. These days, the only thing that truly disturbs his nights is when Tommy is missing from his bed. Because try as he might to deny it, he gets fucking worried, alright? As if some tiny part of his brain is still active even when he’s asleep, reminding him that Tommy isn’t in bed, and for as long as he isn’t, Alfie can’t fully relax, because _what if he’s somehow gotten himself into trouble and what if he’s hurt and_ \- Well, the bottom line is; Alfie sleeps better if Tommy is safely tucked against his side, nose buried in the crook of his neck and cold toes digging into his calves.

So really, it’s no surprise that the very quiet, distant noise wakes him up.

Eyes still closed and with heavy limbs, he reaches across the mattress for Tommy. Because that’s an instinct that has ingrained itself into his backbone by now. But when all his hand can grasp are cold sheets, it prompts him to open his eyes fully and sit up. Turns out to be a mistake, that, because his entire fucking brain seems to tumble around inside his skull, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the sensation. He’s been drinking, apparently. Foggy images resurface in his head: he suddenly remembers the Garrison. A lot of rum. Getting incredibly fucking tired because it’d been a long day already. And finally leaving Tommy there after a solemn promise from Arthur to get him home safely. Something which he has clearly failed to do, because Tommy isn’t in the bed now, is he?

Disoriented and with a severely dry mouth, Alfie stumbles out of bed and searches the floor for his clothes. In the dark he only manages to find his trousers, but that will have to be enough for now. The gun in his bedside drawer ends up in his hand through pure instinct before he continues his rather unsteady walk out into the hallway.

The house is quiet now, but it does nothing to calm him.

“Tommy?” he calls out, deciding that any and all intruders might as well find out at once that they’re about to meet with a violent fate. The click is unnaturally loud in the silence when he cocks the gun, willing his surroundings to stop fucking spinning as he walks down the stairs, calling out for Tommy again as he goes. There’s still no answer, but a familiar voice is coming from the kitchen. Alfie suddenly realizes he’s been holding his breath the entire way down the staircase and can finally release it.

“It’s okay. I know you miss mummy, but she’ll be back really soon.” Tommy is speaking quietly, and his voice holds a different kind of softness which is entirely unfamiliar and Alfie vaguely feels like he’s dreaming. “And you can stay here for as long as you like. I can be your mum in the meantime.”

Alfie opens the kitchen door.

Yeah, he’s dreaming alright. Because how else is he supposed to explain the fact that Tommy is sitting on the kitchen floor with an actual foal halfway cradled in his lap, stroking the mane and looking at it with soft eyes.

“Tommy?”

Tommy looks up at him with a bright smile –one of those smiles that makes Alfie’s heart leap in his chest each time.

“Look there’s Alfie!” he tells the foal and gently picks up one of the hooves, using it to wave at Alfie. “He’s like your dad now. Your extra dad.”

The foal doesn’t seem to be very interested in Alfie and instead nuzzles Tommy’s cheek, causing him to giggle of all things, and Alfie decides that yes, this is most definitely a fucking dream-

He blinks, once, twice, before finally getting his mouth to cooperate.

“Tommy, my dove, light of my life, the reason I get up in the morning and on more nights than I care to count… I ask you now, with nothing but love in my heart: why the fuck is there a horse in our kitchen?”

Having lost focus halfway through that sentence, Tommy goes back to petting the foal’s mane, cradling the head lovingly in his lap as he coos softly to it. Alfie discards the now unnecessary gun on the kitchen counter and walks up to the pair. He crosses his arms over his chest and decides two things: One, it doesn’t matter that Tommy is drunk and looking absolutely precious -hair disheveled and cheeks flushed from the cold outside- the horse is an entirely unacceptable addition to the kitchen, and Alfie disapproves. Two: it _doesn’t fucking matter_ that the foal mostly looks like a large dog where it lies awkwardly curled up by Tommy’s side, the long legs haphazardly folded against the floor. That will not sway him in the least, despite the way it tugs at his heartstrings. He’s getting the horse out of the kitchen and Tommy into bed, that’s the only acceptable outcome of this.  

Tommy seems to have forgotten Alfie is here so he clears his throat loudly and raises both eyebrows in a silent but very clear question. Tommy looks up at him, eyes big and bottom lip jutting out in a pout that makes it impossible for Alfie _not_ to think about kissing him. Which really isn’t what should be the focus right now.

“It was really cold and lonely in the stable,” he tells him and blinks. “And his mum is at the races so he was all alone. So I just thought he could… stay here a little.”

“So, you just happened to pass the stables on your way home from the Garrison, eh? Where the fuck was Arthur?” Alfie mutters more to himself than Tommy.

“He was there too, he said I could!” Tommy beams.

Alfie is going to have a very long and serious conversation with Arthur on the subject of ‘How to care for your drunk Tommy’. A list which definitely doesn’t include taking him to the stables. But for now, Tommy is his first priority.

Said priority has begun feeding the carrots Alfie was supposed to use for a stew tomorrow to the foal.

“Tommy, sweetie, we can’t have the horse in the kitchen,” Alfie says as softly as he can manage. “You have to go to bed, don’t you, and then it’ll be alone down here. And no doubt wreak havoc in the entire house.”

“I’ll sleep here,” Tommy says and curls himself demonstratively around the foal.

Alfie resists the urge to groan. “No you won’t. See, the horse is fine with being in the stables, with all its horse… friends, innit, but you’ll be very sore if you spend the entire night on the floor. And I really prefer when you’re sore for entirely different reasons.” Tommy sets his mouth in that pout again, holding the horse closer. The foal snuffles and seems very pleased with the situation. Alfie adds with a pleading note: “And I’ll be all alone up in the bed, have you thought of that? You’re not going to abandon me to babysit a horse, are you?”

Tommy feeds another carrot to the foal.

“Oh for the love of-“ Alfie bites his tongue. “Tommy, let go of the horse and come upstairs.”  

“No.” Another carrot disappears into the foal’s mouth. The animal whinnies happily and the sound cuts into Alfie’s brain, causing splitting pain to run along his scalp.  
“Tommy, enough of this fucking nonsense,” he barks a bit louder than necessary. In response, Tommy curls himself tighter around the horse, burying his face in the mane. Alfie throws his hands up and wonders why the fuck he even bothers. Tommy is stubborn on the best of days, but absolutely fucking impossible when drunk. And sure he’s the most precious thing in the world, all smiley and affectionate but Alfie prefers when it’s directed towards him and not a horse.

“Fine,” he snaps. “You want to sleep in the kitchen next to a fucking horse then feel free to do so. But I’m going upstairs.” He defies his aching joints and stands up, marching out of the kitchen.

When finally upstairs in the bedroom, Alfie is fully set on simply leaving Tommy to his fate in the kitchen. But then he decides that he can at least bring him a blanket. Might catch a cold otherwise, and Alfie will be kicking himself if that happens. So he fills his arms with blankets, adding a pillow after some hesitance, and goes downstairs again, muttering curses all the way.

Tommy hasn’t moved from his position curled around the foal, and Alfie drops the blankets unceremoniously on the floor. The foal looks up at him with large, brown eyes. Very accusatorily.

Alfie looks down at the pair for another moment.

Then he sighs in defeat and crouches down in front of them. Reaches out and runs a hair through Tommy’s hair. It seems like the safer option; even though this particular horse is very small, it doesn’t quite eradicate the fear that it’ll decide to chomp down on his wrist. Especially since Alfie has shown to be a threat to its very comfortable position in Tommy’s lap.

“I need to take care of him.” Tommy’s voice comes from somewhere within the mane. “I can’t protect him when he’s in the stables.” He looks up at Alfie with those impossibly large eyes, and all the annoyance instantly melts away.

“Fine, love, I understand,” Alfie tells him. Softly, this time. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

He stands up again and makes for the door.

“Wait!” Alfie stops in his tracks and finds Tommy sitting up straight, chewing at his bottom lip. He adds after a bit of hesitant silence: ”Percy can’t sleep.”  

“Percy?” It takes a moment for the wires to connect in Alfie’s mind. “Yeah- alright, the fucking horse. So, why can’t Percy sleep?”

“It’s weird for him, being in a human house and all,” Tommy says quickly. “And he’d be much happier if maybe… you were here with us.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to tell Percy that perhaps he shouldn’t be sleeping in the kitchen then,” Alfie sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. No, he’s not going down that route again. “You know I can’t sleep on the floor, pet, it’ll fuck my entire back up.”

“I know,” Tommy says quietly, fidgeting with a little braid in the foal’s mane that he must’ve made himself. “You can go to bed.”

Alfie makes for the door, fully intent on doing that because it’s fucking idiotic this, spending the night in the kitchen just to appease Tommy and this intruding horse.

But then he makes the mistake of turning around, and sees Tommy there on the floor, hair sticking out in odd directions and eyes suspiciously shiny, and with an equally doe eyed looking horse in his lap. And _fucking hell_ he must’ve gotten soft in old age, because his heart just melts at the sight.

And suddenly he finds himself returning to sit down next to Tommy by the cabinet. He is earns himself a very pleased smile. Alfie shoves a pillow in behind his head. “Fucking scoot over a bit, I’ve got a bloody handle shoved into my spine.”

Tommy happily moves, before curling into his side. Alfie wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“I hope you realise, sweetie, that I’ll be reminding you of this incident for the rest of your life,” he says. “And it should also be made clear, right, that you fucking owe me for this.”

Tommy snuffles a little and clumsily pats his cheek. “I’m sure I can find some way to make it up to you.” Blue eyes look up at him from under a fan of long lashes. Alfie presses a kiss against his forehead, leans his cheek against the top of his head and makes himself somewhat comfortable.

He’ll give it half an hour, that’s the plan, and then Tommy will be asleep and he can carry him upstairs. Put an end to this nonsense.

Unfortunately, the floor turns out to be a way more comfortable surface than he’d expected. So with Tommy snoozing peacefully against his shoulder and the foal snoring quietly, Alfie falls asleep.

 ….

“Tommy? You awake yet? You have to lock the fucking door, anyone can just waltz in here-“

There’s a very unpleasant, familiar voice disturbing his sleep. Alfie squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he could do the same with his ears.

“Fucks sake, is no one awake in this house? Hello?”

Steps are approaching now and he opens his eyes just in time to see Arthur standing on the kitchen threshold with Tommy’s coat hanging over his arm. The sun is shining in through the kitchen window.

Arthur looks from the foal, to Tommy, to Alfie. And then back to the foal. The bewildered look fades and a wide grin stretches under the moustache.

“Congratulations, Solomons! I can see you’ve become a dad.”

Alfie throws Tommy’s discarded boot at Arthur’s face and misses with about a mile.

“Fuck off.”

Arthur doesn’t, of course. Instead he breaks into a fit of laughter.

Alfie tries to clear his vision enough to take in his surroundings. During the night Tommy has slumped down to lie stretched over his lap, and now he begins stirring uneasily, burying his face against Alfie’s stomach and tucking his hands in under his chin. It’s a sight that Alfie would’ve liked to enjoy in peace, rather than with Arthur’s cackling in his ears. The foal is still asleep too, it seems. Apparently Tommy makes for a good pillow and stand-in mum.

“You should’ve let me know,” Arthur continues, entirely unbothered by Alfie’s glare. “I would’ve brought something for the baby.”

Alfie manages to find Tommy’s second boot. Arthur’s laugh ends abruptly when it hits him square in the head. 

 


End file.
